Tools of Deceit
by RavensRequiem
Summary: Reflections can be tools of truth or deceit, Al-Sayf. But the fact always remains that, no matter what you do, you eventually have to face the truth they reveal.” Altaϊr/Malik


**Tools of Deceit**

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_Disclaimer: __I don't claim possession over any and all characters contained herein. I just decided to have fun with them._

_Notes: Phylogeny's boring, making Malik think he's insane isn't! ^^' This was actually inspired by one of my favorite AC artists _http:// doubleleaf. deviantart. com/art /commission- Malik- 154379582. _I looked at it and for some reason envisioned Malik fighting with himself over his reasons for beating Altaϊr into the mud. *shrugs* So, just some exploratory fun at my favorite dai's expense!  
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_Warnings: Implied Altaϊr/Malik __

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"_I got a heart full of pain, head full of stress_

_head full of anger, held in my chest._

_Uphill struggle; blood, sweat, and tears._

_Nothing to gain, everything to fear."_

_-Linkin Park "Nobody's Listening"_

The hour was late, almost to the devil's hour, and all but one building was unlit in the darkness. Innocent locals knew the establishment as the business of a rather dependable scribe, guards knew it as a target of suspicious interest, and those who _knew_ called it a safe haven and their checkpoint between missions. Whatever it was and whoever gazed upon it, the fact remained that it was rare to find the building dark no matter the hour. No one ever knew what the young man who worked and lived there did all through the night –nor did they think to ask– but it was agreed upon that the man was exceptionally dedicated to work such hours.

If only they knew.

What would the innocents say if they found out their scribe learned his tongues from a master-class Assassin and what would the guards say if they found out that _he_ had been an Assassin? Ha – their heads would turn in circles as they tried to figure out how _he_ was ever an Assassin. Malik snorted and glared miserably at the far wall he had been staring at for quite a while, chin cradled in his palm. He reflected bitterly that if the truth ever escaped, he could use the guards' confusion to his advantage to his escape. _But it's a pointless thought because the truth will never leave these walls._

That was about the only knowledge that Malik could rest comfortably with. All other things were uncertain and fragile in his world and he typically clung to the knowledge that his secret was safe for some sort of security. He hated that he had to cling to a false life and a false name, more a shadow then an extension of them like he used to be. God help him, he should have been _happy_! Yes, he'd had his remaining family and a limb ripped from him in an instant that he still couldn't recall, but he should have been happy. He was no longer an Assassin; he was a _dai_ and that put him in position of respect and honor.

It was a fucking demotion.

Malik had never wanted anything more then to be an Assassin and it still stung that he had been neatly tucked into the tactic life of a rafiq. He knew he should have been honored and accepted his reward for fetching the Treasure with gratitude and humility, but how could he? He was in the prime of his life, twenty-six and still full of fire, too young to be in a position men thrice his age were awarded. The one thing he'd wanted had been stripped away and now he got to play scribe to the innocents and human compass to his Brothers as the youngest _dai_ recorded.

_There is no use in complaining,_ Malik reminded himself. The more he groused to himself, the more he reminded himself of the particularly irritating Assassin sleeping in the next room and he shuttered. _Would be better to be a damned _dai_ then to sound like that ox._ He knew he was overstating the length and detail of that particular man's ability to complain (since it didn't actually exist), but it made him feel better to belittle his unwitting tormentor.

Malik sighed and wiped his hand over his face before he turned back to the census he had been working on. The last time he'd even looked at it, the sun had just set and the candle he burned nearby had been brand-new. Now, pale beams of moonlight shot across the slightly curled parchment and the candle wept wax down its sides, almost depleted from constant use. He knew he had to finish the report so that it could make its back to Al Mualim in the morning, but he couldn't focus. The night prior, he hadn't slept at all, kept awake with ears perked towards any noise that sounded like the city alarm. And, the night before that, he hadn't slept either because of the news he'd been sent entailing the visit of his favorite target of belittlement.

It was false to think that his sleeplessness had been because of pent-up frustration, but sometimes Malik liked lies. If he told himself the truth, he'd probably be tempted to better familiarize himself with the dagger hidden safely under his robes. So, Malik told himself that he'd been up after word had come because he had to think of new ways to degrade the Master's fallen star. Then, he told himself that he'd been up through the prior night, listening for the city alarm, because he desperately wanted to smear defeat in his old rival's face. Such lies were petty, but lacking emotional comfort as he was, it made him feel better.

However, lies didn't make him any less tired and it was only a matter of time before Malik found himself dozing off over his report. He startled out of his light sleep violently and shook his head, rubbing his eyes to make them feel less sticky. Teeth grit, he dipped his quill into the nearly depleted well by his elbow and continued to write, trying to coherently enunciate enemy movement and volume within Jerusalem. But, three words in and the harsh scratch of the quill against the parchment startled Malik awake again.

"It would be much easier if you just went to sleep."

"Easy for you to say," Malik grumbled as he tried to hone back in on his work. Yet, not another word in and he froze, eyes widening when it struck him that the other speaker wasn't who he thought it was. Slowly and with a hint of trepidation, he looked up and his breath froze when he saw _himself_ casually leaned against the wall he'd been glaring at for so long. He blinked to try to clear the vision and, when that didn't work, he rubbed his eyes as if he could erase the specter with his hand.

The specter stayed and actually smirked at him in a damnably familiar way, just the way _he_ smirked. "Nothing is going to get rid of me, Al-Sayf."

Malik grit his teeth and almost broke the quill, his hand convulsed so hard. "Do not call me that," he snarled before it struck him that he was scolding _himself_. The oddity of the revelation did nothing to ease the anger of the name he had once proudly touted and had since denounced. No _dai_, a man of tactics and texts, could be likened to a weapon, nor could a former Assassin with naught but one arm be called the "King of Swords".

The younger Malik just kept smirking, arms crossed loosely over his robes, his _Assassin_ robes.

The mere sight pained Malik and a feeling he thought buried with Kadar came back to haunt him. He _missed_ the heavy weight of his weapons and the concealing comfort of his robes and the pride that came with donning the snow-white garb. "Whatever you are," he finally snarled, "leave me in peace."

"It should be obvious what I am," the doppelganger replied evenly. "Or rather, _who_."

Malik forced his head down to focus on his report, not happy to see that he had bent his favorite quill in his anger. "You are nothing but the figment of an overworked mind."

"Ah, so that's what you're going to tell yourself?" The Assassin laughed and moved from the wall, moving with the same predatory grace Malik still possessed to lean against the teak counter almost lazily. "I can't go away, Malik, because I am you."

Malik ignored the shadow the specter cast and kept his head down. There was no way in hell he would indulge his tired mind in its trickery. _Though, last time I saw things, I was overcome by fever. It may not be a good sign that I'm seeing such things again?_ He shook his head and reapplied himself towards the census.

The young Malik just stood there and watched, weight braced easily on his arms as he observed his older self's pristine work. "How is it that you can ignore yourself?" he finally asked.

Malik remained quiet.

"You really would just ignore me?"

Silence was the answer.

"Huh, no wonder they call you a crab behind your back."

Malik's temper got the better of him and he slammed the quill down, eyes blazing as he glared at the specter. "_Go away_," he hissed.

"I won't go away until you face me."

The words cooled Malik's temper and his anger caved into mild confusion as he asked, "What on earth for?"

The younger Malik smiled coolly and motioned between them. "You as you are now stand for what you never wanted to be while I stand for everything you ever wanted to be. You refuse to let go of the past and you slink through the present like a rabid dog."

"Don't presume to lecture me!" Malik snapped. Allah help him if he was going insane, but he wasn't just going to stand there and be told off by himself. "You have no clue what I am or what I was."

"I am you, so I have every idea."

"You look nothing like me!"

The younger Malik laughed and pulled at his topmost robe, the fluttering of white cloth heralding a drastically different specter. This one wore white robes beneath a black robe, his hair was a big longer and his eyes shadowed more prevalently, stubble replaced with a thicker patch of black across his chin. His gaze was angrier and his smile jaded and there was something _wrong_ with the perfect representation of Malik at that very moment:

The left sleeve wasn't pinned.

The damned specter still braced himself against the desk with two arms and Malik almost snapped at the audacity. "What is the point of your being here? Not only are you useless, but you are distracting me!"

"I look just like you and you still insist on casting me off?" The younger Malik scoffed and another tug of his robes reverted him back to the other's appearance a mere two years ago. "Would you will me away with lies as well, Al-Sayf?"

Malik let the name slide in favor of glaring angrily for the first half of the statement. "And what would I be willing away?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

The younger Malik placed a finger to his bottom lip in a thoughtful pose, just as Malik used to when he _really_ wanted to irk people. "Let me see… You had said that you didn't sleep two nights prior because you needed to new ways to torture Altaϊr while you said that you were up all last night just to see if his death bell had sounded in the city alarm. Am I close?"

"You know nothing so don't presume otherwise!" Malik barked.

The younger Malik sighed and held his arms out. "Do you blame your reflection when you don't like what it tells you?"

Malik recoiled. "Excuse me?"

"If you don't like what you see in your reflection, do you blame it or yourself?"

"…Why would I blame my reflection?" Malik scowled when his younger self smirked victoriously; he'd fallen right into that trap with a smile.

"Reflections can be tools of truth or deceit, Al-Sayf," the younger Malik stated evenly as he braced himself against the counter again. "But the fact always remains that, no matter what you do, you eventually have to face the truth they reveal."

"And what truth is that?" Malik asked with a deflated sense of defeat settling over him. _I've officially taken leave of my senses, so I might as well indulge this pest so as not to add frustration on top of insanity._ "Are you going to tell me that I'm a bitter shell of a man with nothing left to do with his life but rot in this prison under the weight of a title he didn't want?"

The younger Malik arched a critical brow. "I was going to be kinder then that… You aren't any bitterer then you're expected to be, given the circumstances, and you are certainly going insane in here, that much anyone can see."

Malik rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. "Then you haven't told me anything I don't already know."

"But you hide here at the same time," the specter shot back. "When was the last time you stepped into the streets for yourself and when was the last time you tried to do more then _write_, which you can do in your sleep?" His smirk widened when Malik just glared at him nastily. "My point exactly. You mourn yourself more than you do Kadar and you're still alive!"

"I do not!" Malik practically roared. Some small, tiny part of his still-rational mind prodded him and reminded him not to wake the sleeping Assassin up to witness his dawning insanity; he ignored that voice.

The younger Malik motioned down himself. "You felt guilt, jealousy, yearning, pain, and desire when you first saw me," he accused. "Not because you saw yourself, but because you saw what you used to be. What would you give to be an Assassin again, Al-Sayf? What measure would you go to?"

Malik shrank back from the questions like they were acidic and his shoulders hunched defensively. He'd thought the specter irritating, but now he was starting to fear it somewhat for the way it spoke his innermost thoughts with ease.

"Answer me."

"Anything," Malik murmured in an uncannily small voice.

"Then why don't you do anything to prove you are still an Assassin?"

"Because my position is an honor."

"Don't kid yourself, I don't enjoy it."

Malik raked his hand through his hair and slammed it back down on the counter. "Why do you want those days back so badly? Is it the power you had or something else?"

"What power?" Malik demanded before he knew what he was saying. "I can kill a man as surely now as I could a year ago."

"Then what?" The younger Malik glanced at the darkened doorway with a new smirk curling his lips. "Does someone long for the old familiarity of close comradery?"

Malik went right back to snarling. "I do not! What would I want with _him_?" He physically recoiled when his younger self lunged forward (was he really that fast?) to fist his robes. First he was taken aback by the fact that his supposed imaginary self could actually hold him in place and then he fell into uneasiness at the look he was receiving.

It was the same look Malik had shot at many a rival when they got too close to what was his and the fist in his robes was as tight as his own fist had been before he waylaid those interlopers.

"Not three months ago, you would have sworn under pain of death that losing him would have been the end of you and now you seek to end him with your own hands." The specter pulled Malik closer. "Do you deny it?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Because he means nothing to me!" Malik fumbled back when his younger self shoved him and he had to look up when the specter hopped onto the counter, boots squarely on his report. "What, he doesn't!"

The younger Malik had apparently had enough with Malik's stubbornness. "You want my life, my robes, and my title back because they made you his equal. You _never_ wanted to be his superior despite all of his boasts and you were happy when you were a mere blade of the Master, so long as you were a blade with _him_. Deep down, where the bitterness had not yet eroded, you mourn the death of your own humanity. You use your life and your robes and your title to chain him, make him suffer and mourn what you yourself have already come to terms with."

Malik's back hit the shelf when his younger self jumped down to corner him. "You lie."

"If I lie, it's because you chose to let the reflection deceive you," the younger Malik snarled. "You were awake last night because you wanted to see him in alive. You were up the night before that because you didn't know what would happen. When you were taken by fever, you do remember that he was there with you and you remember his words and his sorrow. The night you all went and life changed, _you saw what happened._"

"He was an arrogant fool!"

"And so were you! If you weren't so busy hawking him, he wouldn't have been so busy egging you on. Had you exercised a little common sense, he would have stopped and you would still wear my robes and have your brother and arm… You would still have him."

"This isn't about Altaϊr, damnit!"

"Yes, Al-Sayf, it is. You've come to terms with everything but his loss." The younger Malik lean in with a fierce scowl on his lips. "You know that your title and your robes will always have him suffering, punishing himself to seek your forgiveness. You want my robes and title back because then he would love you as an equal, without pain."

"Liar."

"You had equal blame in what happened."

"I did not!"

"Kadar's death was as much your fault as it was his!"

"Lies!"

"You are both too damn proud and you know that your pride is slowly killing the last thing that means anything to you."

Silence.

The younger Malik smirked and caged Malik between his arms, dark eyes made darker by the uncertain lighting. "I see it, Al-Sayf…"

Malik didn't want to make the admission, didn't want the guilt or the implication or the responsibility. He didn't want to face himself or his past or his future, just wanted to drown in his own caustic sea of bitterness, steep in self-pity for…

"Ah, to think, I'd given up hope," the younger Malik murmured when he saw the surprise flash across Malik's face. "Go on and say it."

"Self-pity…" The words tasted odd in Malik's mouth, but the admission took a weight from his shoulders that he had carried for months. At the same time, he cringed when his pride screamed at him for saying such things, trying to decry them as untrue to ease their sting.

The younger Malik leaned back, pacified by the answer, and he gestured to Malik with a lazy sweep of his hand. "Keep going, don't let me stop you."

Malik couldn't make himself speak at first and the longer he remained silent, the more the specter's accusation of pride banged through his head. Was it really so lethal that it could kill a man? _Of course. Alta__ϊ__r's pride killed Kadar._ Malik knew he was prideful (almost painfully so sometimes), but he wasn't taking direct action. Without action, how could his pride be a weapon?

"_Safety and peace to you, Malik." A good intention, an olive branch signifying his desire to make amends even if his pride wouldn't let him actually apologize._

"_Your presence here deprives me of both. Now state your business and be gone." Harsh words that smashed the other's hope and he saw the flash of hurt that was quickly replaced by anger. It was an odd look on the man's face, but he couldn't care less. He'd get over it._

Okay, so maybe his words had been a little abrasive…

_A heavy thump drew his attention from his current commission and he felt exasperation creep over him when his least favorite visitor appeared in the doorway in tatters. He almost bolted, old instincts kicking up in panic, but he quashed those feelings and sneered at the injured Assassin. "Job well done, novice. Not only did you let the whole damn city know of your work, but you managed to leave a trail back here in case anyone wanted to pay homage to your brilliance."_

_He bared his teeth, stained red with blood, and his legs buckled. He offered no defense to his state, just quietly asked for the medical supplies that were always kept on hand for just such events._

"_They're over there." He merely pointed and went back to his work, but his mind buzzed with a host of new facts. Had he heard defeat in the man's voice? Was it his imagination playing tricks on him when he'd seen the immovable ox flinch at his words? Again, he brushed those irritating thoughts aside and figured that he would get over it._

And maybe he'd risked the other's safety to maintain his grudges…

"_I've assassinated my target, _dai_."_

"_Yes, I know. And the rest of the city does as well!" He wasn't so much furious at the sounding of the alarm (since it was so normal for the man), but he needed an outlet to bark at after an irritating morning. "At least you're not bleeding all over the floor this time."_

_His jaw tensed, but he refrained from retorting as he cast a bloody feather on the counter. "I'll inconvenience you no longer."_

_He glanced down at the feather then up at the other, his brow arching and that damn annoying pang of panic rising when he saw the gash that ran across the man's back in a bloody line. He waited for a remark on the injury or a request for help (ready to turn it down and hurl it back in his face) and he was dumbfounded when the man just left without another word._

That hadn't been a pleasant experience, since it made him realize that the other was now going to self-destructive lengths…

"Dai_, safety and peace."_

_He didn't even reply and feigned preoccupation until he realized the man wasn't going to go away. "What do you want?" he barked._

"_Merely a place to rest, nothing more."_

"_You've interrupted me for _that_? Isn't there somewhere else you can rest or do you take specific joy in tormenting me with your presence?"_

_The flinch was visible and the words carried a heavy note of pain in them. "If I had another choice, I would not have come."_

"_Then find another option."_

"_Malik, _please_, just for the night."_

_He paused; had the man just spoken in begging tones? He looked up and startled when he saw that the Assassin looked like one of his targets, mangled and fatigued from who knew what sort of mission. The part of him that spat acid wanted to rub the man's condition in his face, but the part of him that had never stopped caring about him finally won over his animosity. "Just be quiet."_

_The relieved look in the other's eyes hurt more then he thought it would._

And now the man slept soundly in the next room, but he hadn't gotten off without additional injury. Malik had verbally beaten him to a pulp when a simple discussion got out of hand and he was still haunted by the absolutely broken tone he'd heard, afraid of the dead gray eyes that stared at him in the twilight shadows.

Altaϊr looked like a dead man walking.

"Have we gotten anywhere or are you walking in circles?" the younger Malik chided acidly.

The stupid, insanity-manifested specter was right: Malik's pride was killing Altaϊr. He thought and spun his gears over the matter until he realized that the Assassin had been trying to make amends, tried to soothe his rage, and had defected all dominance without a fight. And all Malik did was hit him twice as hard every time he bowed in submission, making sadistic use of his bared neck to inflict deeper wounds.

And none of it was because of Solomon's Temple. Malik had long known that death was certain in their lifestyle and he did miss Kadar terribly, but he had long gotten over his death. He wished things were different, but he rejoiced the fact that his brother had gone to paradise for his hard work and obedience. The loss of his arm had been conquered as well and, while he sometimes hated its absence, he'd adapted quickly enough. The skills he'd lost had been regained and Malik knew he could carry out a mission as well as any other brother. But, he wanted to be bitter and angry because he couldn't let go of his grief over his higher station, a quiet and tame lifestyle.

Malik targeted Altaϊr because the man stood for everything he wanted to be. He punished the man thrice over for getting off with a demotion and a chance to earn his former station back while he was trapped in this four-walled hell.

Malik always considered the fact that he had lost his brother, his arm, his station, and his beloved in one night.

He never considered the fact that Altaϊr had lost just as much and carried the blame alone.

The younger Malik chuckled when he saw the light of recognition in Malik's eyes and leaned forward again. "Face me and stop using your reflection as a method of deceit, Al-Sayf."

Malik looked up the specter that smirked at him easily, his lips drawn down in a frown. "You're right… I'm right…" He sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Whoever it is, they are right."

"Then do something about it before his blood is on your hands…"

"…MALIK!"

Malik started violently and his head snapped up, dark eyes casting about the brightly lit Bureau in confusion as he tried to find the specter. All he found was Altaϊr standing nearby, looking mildly confounded by the _dai_'s wake up. He stood and cast about, his mind slowly supply that it was morning and the quill in his hand had made a lovely, jagged line down his report. _I… I was sleeping?_ He could have sworn he had been awake the whole night, but he slowly realized that it couldn't have been possible.

"Are you alright?" Altaϊr inquired quietly.

Malik dropped the quill and pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of his dreaming realizations settling like a leaden cloak over his shoulders. _Whatever transpired, be it because of insanity or dreams, it was a necessary experience._ With the clarity of an epiphany backing him, he saw the broken state Altaϊr had fallen to and he actually let that repressed part of himself rise to the surface. "I just had a dream, is all. Sorry if I startled you."

Altaϊr's face dropped into shock for having heard Malik apologize, but he covered it up quickly. "I merely wanted to wake you before I left, lest you remove my head for letting you oversleep."

Malik's keen eyes took to the reddened patches across Altaϊr's robes and sighed. His report could wait; if Altaϊr could offer olive branches, so could he. _Not that it'll fix months of animosity instantly, but it's a start._

Altaϊr had offered peace upon Malik the first time they'd met after the Temple in an attempt to open a line of communication between them.

Malik led Altaϊr into the other room to sit and tend his wounds properly in the hope that Altaϊr would see his own attempt to reestablish their old bonds. And, as he sat there and gently washed away the caked on blood, he swore he heard a chuckle and a soft, _"It's nice when your reflection no longer deceives you, isn't it?"_

Malik smiled softly and murmured to himself, _"Yes, it is."_


End file.
